


To Be Free

by SkyFireForever



Category: American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, American Revolution, Historical, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-15 04:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17522081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFireForever/pseuds/SkyFireForever
Summary: Freedom should be something simple. It should be something given to everyone at birth. It should be something given to every person, not just a select few.Boston Carrigan was willing to fight for his freedom. For the freedom of America. He was willing to stand beside his fellow soldiers, even if not everyone thought that he was the type of person who deserved freedom.Everywhere he looked, he saw a lack of freedom. He saw the mistreatment of mages, of the Mystic, of slaves. So many claimed to fight for freedom,But what does freedom mean to them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I try my best to be historically accurate, but there may be some mistakes.

Fighting a war wasn’t as exciting as Boston expected. When he’d thought of war, he’d always imagined the air smelling of blood, dust in soldiers’ eyes, constantly dodging bullets and avoiding blades. War wasn’t like that at all. At least, not from what Boston saw. A majority of war seemed to be waiting around: Setting up camps, fleeing from the British, trying not to starve to death. None of it was as thrilling as war should be. 

It was tense. It was terrifying. It was a struggle. None of that was being denied. War was a fight for survival. Boston had simply assumed that fight would be more physical. He didn’t expect to have the time to do nothing at all. He wasn’t quite certain of what to do with the time that he had. Of all the emotions brought on by war, boredom should never have been one of them. 

Boston didn’t take well to being bored. It was one of the universe’s worst curses. It was stagnant, still, a sign that not enough was getting done. Boredom should be the catalyst for something more exciting. He was laying on the stiff grass, boredom overtaking every fiber of his brain, filling his mind with a dumb, blank emptiness. He squinted up at the too-bright sky, hand rising to cast shade over his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he sat up, wincing as his stiff back protested. While his brain required stimulation, his body seemed content with its lack of movement. He rose to his feet, stretching his arms behind his back in an attempt to force his body back into motion. He jogged down the hill he had been resting atop of, searching for something more entertaining than cloud gazing with a cloudless sky. He heard the nearby bable of a small creek that ran through the area, approaching it cautiously. 

He cupped a puddle of water in his hands, splashing it against his face. He closed his eyes and basked in how the cool liquid refreshed his heated skin. He wiped the water from his eyes before scanning the area, trying to catch any sight of someone lurking nearby. The last thing he wanted was to be caught by surprise. 

When he found no one around, he hesitantly rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The skin had risen to form a misshapen W branded clearly across both wrists. The mark of a water mage. A danger to society. The mark that Boston would carry for life. The scar declared that he was unequal to those without a brand. That he was less than them due to an ability granted to him at birth that he couldn’t control. He was born with an Element. That automatically made him dangerous. 

He never asked to be a mage. He never wanted it. It was something that he was born with. He simply happened to end up with the genes that would cause him to be viewed as a monster. He happened to be born with an Element, just as he happened to be born with brown hair. No one branded children for being born with brown hair. 

Boston didn’t remember the day he received his brand. He was told that on that day, he had been fighting with his parents about being washed. He was told that it was an ordinary squabble between parents and children. He was told that all of the water flew from the pail, flying through the air before splashing to the ground. He was told that was the moment when his parents were certain of what he was. He was told that he was brought immediately to the authorities. His parents knew the law. They knew what had to be done. Boston didn’t remember the day he received his brand, but he remembered the moment. He remembered being in a dark room with a man who he didn’t know standing above him. He remembered the searing pain and his vision going white. He remembered trying to scream, but no sound coming out. He didn’t remember anything after that. 

He was told that he should consider himself lucky, that the colonies were more lenient to mages than most places. He was allowed to live a life on his parents’ farm. He was allowed to purchase goods. He would be allowed to marry. He was free compared to most mages. He should count himself among the lucky ones. 

Boston didn’t feel free. He was not permitted to purchase land. He was not allowed to live on property not owned by one without an Element who agreed to be his watcher. He could not go into town without the eyes of the constables tracking his every move. He would not be accepted for any type of schooling. He could not choose a career of his own. A single accusation made against him would cause him to be arrested on sight. No lawyer wanted to fight in defense of a mage. It was common knowledge that mages had too much power. That mages would allow that power to control them. That they would turn against anyone. His so-called “freedom” didn’t match his definition of the word. 

Freedom should mean being given the rights to which every person was owed. It was clear that the people praising Boston’s freedom disagreed. They believed that it was freedom enough to be allowed to live, to not be killed as soon as his Element developed. They believed it was freedom enough to be permitted to exist in society, even if he didn’t have the same rights as others. That wasn’t freedom enough to Boston. Freedom meant standing alongside his brothers. Freedom meant being treated with respect. Freedom meant being permitted to contribute to society rather than simply exist within it. That was freedom to him. He hoped that America would agree.

Boston rubbed water against his his wrists, fingers tracing the scarred skin. He glanced at the creek, watching the water rushing past. He took one last look around, just to be certain that he was alone. He rose his hand, taking a shaky breath. Concentrate. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the stream, letting the babbling noises flow through him. Focus. Feel. Let everything else go. He exhaled, moving his hand forward and back in a steady motion. He felt himself pulled to the water. He felt the water pulled to him. He slowly opened his eyes, gaze trained on the flow of the current. He pulled his arm closer, attempting to pull the water. He focused, brow furrowing in concentration. He inhaled, sweat dripping down his forehead. The water rippled, the current slowed. A beat. The current stopped. The water went still. Stagnant. Unmoving and flat. Boston exhaled the breath he had been holding in, only for the creek to resume its flow. 

He fell backwards, his back hitting the bank of the creek. He panted heavily, his energy drained. He couldn’t help a small smirk spreading across his face, the feeling of pride settling in his chest. He had never been granted the opportunity to learn how to control his Element. The practice and teaching of such a thing was a crime worthy of death. He’d had to learn on his own, practicing and experimenting whenever he could slip away and be sure that he was alone. He’d made progress, even if it wasn’t much. It certainly wasn’t enough to cause damage to anyone or anything. He attempted to regain his breath, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He managed to remember to roll down his sleeves, covering his wrists completely. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing his brands. The sun beat down on his face and he allowed his eyes to drift close. The comfortable heat and the babbling of the creek created the perfect illusion of peace. It was easy to forget there a war was going on. In this comfortable quiet, Boston didn’t feel bored. He felt content. 

“Carrigan. Carrigan!” Boston’s eyes snapped open, a strangled sound escaping his throat. He rose to his elbows, squinting in an attempt to make out the figure shouting his name. “What are you doing sleeping around?” 

Boston couldn’t remember falling asleep, but the sun hung low in the sky, barely above the horizon. “Huh?” He yawned and ran a hand through his hair. He stared up at the blond man standing above him. “How long was I out?” 

“All day by the looks of it,” James shook his head, offering Boston his hand, which he gratefully accepted. He was pulled to his feet, James grunting at the effort. “What were you doing all the way down here? We were beginning to think you got yourself killed.” 

“Disappointed?” Boston rose an eyebrow, stretching until his back cracked, catching James’ wince at the sound. 

James shrugged, trying to hide his grin. “Maybe a bit. At least something interesting would have happened.”

Boston laughed. “Tell me about it.” He shook his head. “I’m almost disappointed that we haven’t been spontaneously attacked by the British.” 

James’ face soured. “It would hardly be a surprise.” He pointed out. “We’re already losing. We had to retreat early.” 

“We were retreating anyway.” Boston said. “The arrival of more British troops just caused a bit of a panic. We’ve regrouped now and we’ll make it out okay.”

“It caused our retreat to be extremely messy.” James snapped, anger radiating off of him in waves. “We lost soldiers on the way and the lobsterbacks are in hot pursuit. They’re not going to let us just go.”

Boston sighed, knowing that James was right. He wasn’t willing to give up so easily; however. He had hope. “But we still have soldiers. We haven’t lost until every last one of us is gone.” His face showed pure determination. “We can match them. We have a counterattack coming. One that we can win.”

“You have a great deal of optimism, don’t you?” James quirked an eyebrow. “Our general is almost certainly going to die before the battle even begins. He certainly can’t lead.”

“Don’t say that!” Boston exclaimed, glaring. “We have awhile before the battle. He could recover.” 

“He’s only getting worse, Boston.” James ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Look, let’s not talk about this right now. We might not even be personally dispatched. We’ll probably just be as bored as ever, hearing the news of the battle from someone else.” 

Boston shrugged. “We might get deployed. You never know.” He blinked as he looked around, noticing that the sun had sunk further below the horizon. “Come on, we should get back.” 

James nodded, walking beside his friend. He was clearly tense, hands balled into fists at his sides. James’ anger was always visible, seeming to fill the air around him. Boston knew better than to speak to him when he was like this. He wasn’t about to change his mind and speaking to him was likely to just set him off. Boston sighed, looking up at the sky. He supposed there was nothing to do but wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to keep this as accurate to the actual battle as I could. There may be a few mistakes.

Waiting was worse when it was filled with anticipation. As the battle grew closer, everything continued to go wrong. General Thomas had died of smallpox and had been replaced by General William Thompson. Reinforcements had been sent for and General John Sullivan should be arriving shortly. Boston felt the air thick with suspense, seeing the concern on his fellow soldiers’ faces everywhere he turned. Everyone seemed restless. Their chances of success diminished more and more each day. Six hundred troops had been dispatched towards Trois-Rivières in an attempt to surprise the British presence there.

Boston was ripping apart a leaf, forcing it down to the bare stem without breaking it. He was still frustrated that he hadn’t been sent for the attack. He didn’t want to be left on the outside. He heard footsteps racing towards him, causing his head to snap up. He saw James panting, clearly having ran to meet him. 

“James? What’s going on? Is everything alright?” He quickly scrambled to his feet. “What’s happened?”

“General Sullivan just arrived.” James informed, attempting to catch his breath. “He’s sending out more troops to meet with St. Clair.” 

“What?” Boston’s eyes widened. “Colonel St. Clair was sent out just a few hours ago!”

James nodded, placing a hand on his chest, clearly struggling to take in enough air. “He’s hoping that they’ll catch up. He’s sending them with Thompson.” 

“How many troops are marching?” Boston asked, an eager look in his eyes. It was possible that he could be deployed. 

“Over a thousand.” The blond broke into a grin. “Including us.” 

Boston’s eyes widened. “We’re being sent out?” When he was met with a nod, he grabbed his gun. “What are we waiting for?” He took off towards camp, James on his heels. He arrived just in time to step in line with the other troops, standing at attention. He couldn’t quite hear General Thompson as he spoke before the large crowd of soldiers. He managed to pretend to pay attention, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was full of energy, unable to express it properly. He couldn’t stop moving. 

“Will you be still?” A soldier to his left hissed at him. Boston turned his head to see Julian Hugo standing beside him, his back as stiff as a board as he stood at perfect attention. “I’m trying to listen.”

Boston clenched his teeth, trying to keep from making a snappy retort. Hugo wasn’t someone he enjoyed spending extended amounts of time with. The man was too serious, too strict. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of humor in his soul. “I doubt you’d be able to hear if the very world stood still.” So much for keeping his retorts to himself.

“It would certainly be easier.” Hugo spat out, glaring at Boston through blue eyes that were just as cold as the man himself. He turned his head away from the other man, diverting his attention back to the general. 

Boston rolled his eyes, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything further. He kept his gaze fixated on the figure speaking. The general made a gesture with his arm, signaling for the troops to move out. Boston turned and followed his fellow soldiers as they were sent off. He glanced at James. “I didn’t bring much rations.” He whispered to him, trying to avoid Hugo’s noise complaints. 

“I’ve got you.” James assured, gesturing to the pack hanging from his shoulder. “I grabbed extra.” He looked pleased with himself for his own thoughtfulness. “I have your back. You’d be lost without me.”

Boston laughed louder than was probably wise. “Lost or dead.” He agreed, having a tendency to leave behind anything that James didn’t remember to collect. 

“Will you shut up?” Hugo hissed, shooting a glare at the two of them. “We need to be listening for British soldiers. We won’t be able to hear them approaching if you continue speaking.”

Boston suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “We won’t be able to hear a thing over the sounds of a thousand soldiers’ footsteps, anyway.” He pointed out, gesturing around himself as if presenting the light grinding of dirt beneath heavy boots. “Can’t you lighten up? With that uptight attitude, maybe you would have done better as a redcoat. They’re the ones with the strict rules.” He grinned, nudging James to get him in on the joke. 

Hugo’s face soured. Boston wasn’t even aware that his expression could sour any further than his usual expression. “I would be in the British militia if I believed in what they stood for.” He said, deadly serious. Boston didn’t know why he would expect anything different. “As it stands, I don’t. I believe in what this army stands for. It can be rowdy and unkempt and could use further organization, but it stands for freedom. We stand for freedom. That is what I believe in and that is what I am willing to fight for.”

“You really can’t take a joke, can you?” James cocked an eyebrow, seemingly almost amused by how seriously Hugo took the jab.  “You should take that stick out of your arse. Maybe you can stab a redcoat with it. It would probably be sharper than most of our bayonet blades.” He elbowed the other blond, who swatted him away with a scowl.

“And you can’t take anything seriously.” Hugo snapped, clearly struggling to remain calm. “If we were attacked right now, you wouldn’t be prepared. The British would be able to shoot you in the back without you even being aware.”

“I'm pretty sure I would notice a bullet in my back." James laughed, not losing his cheery attitude. "We’re the ones who are planning the surprise attack, anyway. They won't see us coming.” He shrugged, seeming actually hopeful for the first time in quite awhile. Boston wasn't sure how much of it was genuine and how much of it was just an act to piss Hugo off further. “Besides, we’d be able to see those lobsterbacks coming a mile off. Have you seen the shade of red on their coats? It’s an eyesore.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t take us by surprise.” Hugo sighed, realizing that he wasn’t going to get through to the others. “They've done it before.You have too much confidence.”

“You don’t have enough.” Boston retorted, tired of Hugo's constant cynicism. “We certainly can’t win if we have no faith. We’re doing well. Battles have been won. We’re doing better than anyone expected us to.”

“Maybe so, but that isn’t a guarantee of a win at every battle. We must be on guard. We must be alert.” Hugo kept his eyes focused straight ahead as they walked. “We wouldn’t have won anything if we trusted blind confidence.” 

Boston sighed heavily, bored of speaking to the human equivalent of a wall. He just shook his head and turned his attention to James. “What’s his deal, anyway? He seems almost determined for us to lose.” 

James shrugged. “He’s just one of those types.” He dismissed, done with teasing the man. “We can ignore him. Seems like the best option.”

Boston chuckled. “Very good idea.” 

 

The men met with Colonel St. Clair and his troops at Nicolet. They were allowed the night to rest before erecting defenses the next day. Tensions were high, everyone waiting with bated breath for what would happen next. Two days passed with discussion of strategy, training, and preparation. The day of the battle grew closer and closer. Night fell on June 7th and around two thousand soldiers crossed the river, landing at Pointe du Lac. 

 

Boston followed his fellow soldiers, stepping through the unfamiliar terrain. Two hundred and fifty men were stationed to guard the landing. Boston was glad to not be counted among their numbers. He wouldn’t want to be left bored. General Thompson had managed to convince a local farmer to guide the army to Trois-Rivières. It soon became clear that they were headed in the wrong direction. They made an attempt to counter the trickery by abandoning the public roads, only to be led through a swampy morass. The mud seemed to be pulling them down, sinking them into the very ground. Boston made a face, trying to pull his feet from the muck. “There must have been a better way through this.” He muttered to James. They had already been trapped within the quagmire for several hours. 

 

James scowled. “We probably would have gotten there if it wasn’t for that farmer.” He whispered, managing to force his way forward step by step.

 

“Bastard.” Boston shook his head, frustrated. That loyalist may have cost them this battle. “If he betrayed us, that almost certainly means that the British have been alerted to our presence.”

 

James took in a breath. “I hate to admit that you’re right.” He kept an eye out for an attack, clearly tense. “I think we’re almost out, but there might be lobsters waiting for us on the other side.”

 

Boston nodded. “We need to be prepared for enemy fire.” He agreed, glancing up at General Thompson, who was still leading his charge. The general motioned for his troops to make their way out of the swamp. Boston crept out, surrounded by his companions, most of them only boys. They were all clutching their guns until their knuckles turned white. The soldiers made their way through the muck and mud, finally forcing their way through. Boston had to raise his hand to block out the light from the approaching sunrise. As soon as they were out, they were faced with a ship looming before them in the river. Boston’s eyes widened, seeing the redcoats manning the ship. The name HMS Martin was emblazoned on the side. 

 

He spotted the cannons directed at them just a second too late, diving out of the way as a grapeshot was sent loose on the soldiers. One after another, the small cannonballs struck the ground all around them, troops scrambling to find an escape. The thundering crash as the cannonballs hit coupled with the explosion of the cannons firing carried through the air worse than the loudest gunshots. He could make out the voices of his fellow soldiers, but any words were indistinguishable. He felt a hand on his arm and he spun around, finger on the trigger and fully prepared to fire. He locked eyes with Hugo’s fierce blue ones, exhaling a sigh of relief.

 

“What are you doing, I almost shot you!” Boston screamed at the man, struggling to make his voice heard over the noises surrounding him. Wasn’t Hugo the one who preached about being careful? 

 

“General Thompson gave the order to fall back into the swamp!” The blond’s voice somehow carried enough to be heard clearly. 

 

“Fall back?” Boston gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse. The swamp was the worst place they could be cornered into. He wanted to stand and fight here, wanted to face the British head-on. The sound of a cannonball crashing to the ground barely a few feet from him drove that idea from his mind. “Fine.” He did as he was ordered, retreating back to the swamp. He was seething, unable to believe that they were forced back so easily. He marched through the mud, searching for anyone he knew. He noticed that James was nowhere to be found. He felt his heart hammering in his chest. He ventured further into the swamp searching desperately for any sign of his friend. It would be too dangerous to call his name and draw attention to himself. 

 

He heard a shot ring out and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His head swiveled back and he caught the flash of red from a British uniform. He dove behind a tree, hands shaking. He glanced out from his cover, taking a deep breath. He fought to remain calm, aiming directly at a soldier. He hadn't seemed to notice him yet. Boston exhaled, finger on the trigger. His eyes narrowed and he fired.

 

His bullet missed by a hair, embedding itself in the tree behind the soldier’s head. Boston cursed himself as the redcoat spun around, catching sight of him. There wasn’t much else Boston could do, so he ran. The mud clung to his boots, trying to suck him in. He couldn’t make it out quick enough. He glanced behind him, seeing the British soldier taking aim. He did the first thing that came to mind, flinging his gun out of the way and diving to the ground. He heard the weapon behind him fire, the musket ball soaring above his head. He struggled to his feet, the swamp still tugging at his clothing and skin. He had a moment to flee as the soldier reloaded, his own gun forgotten somewhere in the quagmire behind him.

 

He ducked behind another tree, mud covering every inch of his body. He took deep breaths, back resting against the trunk. There was no way he could escape. The redcoat was approaching him. He was left without a weapon. He tried to peek out behind the tree,to see how far the soldier was, only to come face-to-face with the pointed end of a bayonet. His eyes widened and he stared up at the unforgiving glare of the man who was prepared to kill him. This was it. There was no way out. He closed his eyes, hearing the pounding of his heartbeat. All he felt was blind, unrelenting fear. He didn’t want to die. He couldn't die. He could feel the rush of his blood flooding his veins, energy flowing through every part of him before a yelp rang out, followed by a splash.

 

Boston’s eyes snapped open and he saw the soldier laying on the ground, pools of water dripping from his mouth. He took a step back, staring in horror at what he had done. He didn’t have time to stop, as he was reminded by the distant sounds of gunfire through the marsh. He turned to run, seeing Hugo standing directly behind him, mouth open in shock. Boston felt a sickening feeling in his stomach.

 

“You’re a mage.” Hugo’s voice was barely above a whisper. He glanced between Boston and the body at his feet. He took a step back, eyes narrowing as he raised his gun, pointing it directly at Boston’s chest. 


	3. Chapter 3

Boston attempted to think quickly, glaring at Hugo and fighting to suppress his fear. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” He snapped, stepping back. “You could blow my head off.”

“I saw you.” Hugo didn’t lower his weapon, didn’t even blink. His eyes were colder than they were before, a detached emptiness within them.

“Saw me what?” Boston expressed the most bewildered face he could muster. Maybe he could play this off as a trick of light or an illusion. “Saw me almost get shot by someone in my own militia?”

Hugo shook his head, gripping his firearm firmly. His bright blond hair had fallen out of its usual red ribbon, giving him a manic and messy appearance. It was so different from his usual perfect composure. “You’re a mage.”

“What?” Boston scoffed, rolling his eyes. He was struggling not to panic, to keep from sprinting in the opposite direction. “Don’t be stupid, Hugo. We don’t have time for games. I would’ve thought you’d know that.”

“Don’t mess with me, Carrigan.” Hugo spat, breathing heavily. He looked very much like a madman. “I know what I saw. You drowned that man on dry land. I watched you.”

Boston shook his head, stepping forward. He tried to appear unbothered by the accusation. He noticed how Hugo tensed and he fought the urge to flee. “We don’t have time for this. We have to go before we get killed by some redcoat. Or have you forgotten that we’re in the middle of battle?” He question, moving past Hugo.

“I have to make sure I don’t get attacked by some mage.” Hugo didn’t lower his gun, watching Boston like a hawk.

“Some mage?” Boston turned to face him. “Some mage? We’ve fought alongside each other. We’ve trained together. You know me. Even if I was a mage, why would I attack you?” He questioned, offended by the implication that he would attack one of his own. “We’re on the same side. There’s no reason for me to suddenly turn against you.” He insisted, meeting Hugo’s gaze. It a moment of sincerity, he softened his voice. “We have to get out of here before another redcoat has the chance to take us.”

Hugo hesitated, glancing around at Boston’s suggestion. He swallowed before lowering his weapon, giving Boston a curt nod. “Fine. We’ll go, but don’t try anything.” He warned, motioning for Boston to continue forward. There were muffled gunshots in the distance.

Boston clenched his teeth, but said nothing. He was just relieved to not be shot. He forced his way through the swamp, struggling to pull his feet from the mud. The two soldiers walked together in silence, lucky enough not to be intercepted by British troops. They managed to find their way out of the swamp and Boston blinked at the harsh light. He took a step forward, prepared to simply head out and hope for the best.

“Wait.” Hugo’s voice came from behind him.

Boston turned around, raising an eyebrow. For a brief moment, he was afraid that Hugo had changed his mind, that he was going to shoot him. “Do you need something?” He kept his voice level.

Hugo set his gun down and unbuttoned the coat of his uniform before throwing it behind him. “The uniforms are too recognizable.” He pointed out, running his fingers through his tangled waves. “We need to keep from being recognized.”

“Oh.” Boston blinked, realizing that Hugo was very much correct. He removed his coat and threw it back into the swamp. He tugged the long sleeves of his undershirt down, ensuring that his wrists were covered.

Hugo nodded, tossing his gun to the side before continuing forward. It would be a long trek back to where they would be safe. The two of them walked in heavy silence, both tense and alert. Hours passed as the sun beat down on their exposed necks, reddening the bare skin.

Boston had grown so used to the steady sounds of footfalls on dirt that a voice breaking the silence startled him.

“How long have you known that you were a mage?” Hugo wasn’t even looking at him. “How did you learn how to do that?” Boston opened his mouth to defend himself, but he was cut off. “Don’t try to deny it. I know what I saw. I won’t report you. I just want my questions answered.”

Boston allowed the question to hang in the air for a long moment. “I’ve known since I was a child, I suppose. When I received my brands.” He subconsciously rubbed his wrist through the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t know what it really meant until later.” He sighed, staring at the ground.

“How did you learn how to use it?” The blond was watching him out of the corner of his eye. “Who taught you?”

“No one.” Boston said quickly. “No one taught me. I’ve never been able to do anything like that before.” It was the truth. That was more powerful than anything he had accomplished before. “I mean, I’ve been practicing, but the most impressive thing I could do was stop a tiny creek for a second. That’s it.”

Hugo scoffed. “Why lie now?” His voice held a biting edge. “Why be honest with your abilities and not about how you use them?”

“I’m not lying, Hugo.” Boston’s eyes narrowed. There was no reason for him to lie, just as Hugo had said. “I told the truth. The whole truth.” He shot a glare at him. “I don’t know what happened. It was more powerful than anything I’ve ever done before.”

Hugo went silent a moment. “Why should I trust you? You’ve been keeping this from everyone. You’re dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than you with a bayonet.” He shot back. “I’m not dangerous to the people I work with. I hate the redcoats as much as anyone. I believe in the American cause. Why would I suddenly kill the men I’m fighting beside?”

“Why would you lie to them?”

“Do you think I would have been allowed to enlist if anyone knew? Do you think any general would trust a mage under his command?” Boston managed to catch Hugo’s eye. “Would you?”

Hugo hesitated before shaking his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “No. No, I wouldn’t. There would be too many risks. If he decided to betray us, it could destroy us forever. If he lost control for even a second, we could lose soldiers that we desperately need.”

“Exactly.” Boston nodded, proving his point. “There’s too much suspicion around mages. We’re viewed as a threat. People think that we have no control over ourselves.”

“Do you have control?” The blond watched him, his tone unreadable.

“I haven’t killed any of our men yet, have I?” It seemed the most reasonable response. Point out the facts. Use logic to dissuade accusations. Boston just wanted other people to understand him. To show that there was no reason for him to be feared. “I’ve had every opportunity. Today was the first time I ever used my powers to cause harm. It wasn’t even voluntarily.”

Silence settled after that, almost as though Hugo was considering. They walked for miles and miles, the heat becoming unbearable. Night fell and the two of them were still walking, the sweat causing their shirts to stick to their backs. Boston wiped at his brow, exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He coughed, struggling to breathe in the humid heat. It felt like he was suffocating on dry land.

“We should find someplace to rest.” Hugo mumbled, breaking the silence. “We also need to find the rest of our regiment as well as find out what happened at the battle.”

Boston laughed humorlessly. “I think it’s safe to assume that we lost.” He muttered darkly.

“But we need to know who was taken captive, how many died.” He snapped. “We can’t just be left in the dark as it concerns our fellow men.”

Boston sighed, knowing that Hugo was right. “Yeah. Maybe we can find an inn or something.” He glanced around. “There could be more survivors who got out.”

Hugo nodded. “My thoughts exactly.” He spied a tavert and pointed. “There.” He started towards it. “We can rest here.”

Boston slipped inside as Hugo held the door open for him. He sighed and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Do you have any money?” He glanced back at Hugo. “Because I don’t.”

Hugo shook his head. “No, but if we can find some sympathizers, that would be enough.” He slid onto a stool to take a seat. “Relax. Stop looking so suspicious.”

“Easier said than done.” Boston pointed out, repressing the urge to roll his eyes at his fellow soldier. He looked around the tavern at the fellow people there. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, praying that no one would figure out what they were. There situation was tenuous, to say the least. He stiffened. “Don’t look now, but redcoat at twelve o’clock.” He muttered under his breath to Hugo, whose eyes narrowed. The situation just got worse. 


End file.
